


Hands

by Devilc



Category: Friday Night Lights
Genre: Car Sex, M/M, dirty quad porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-15
Updated: 2010-01-15
Packaged: 2017-10-06 07:40:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,655
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/51277
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Devilc/pseuds/Devilc
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tim, Jason, and a little pause on the road to Mexico.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hands

**Author's Note:**

> Written for FNL Rally Girls prompt #2: hands. Assumes you've seen 2x03.

They haven't even made it out of Dillon, just to the far edge of town, when Jason pulls the truck over and parks in a picnic stop at the edge of a cornfield. As with all picnic stops, there's no toilet of course, but there's a large, healthy looking bush over by the ditch and the cornfield, so they're all set. Tim's sound asleep as soon as Jason puts the truck in park and pulls the brake.

Jason studies him for a moment. Sleep washes all the hardness from Tim's face. He looks so much younger, like he's 10, and there's a sweetness (Jason can't think of a better word for it) in his face. Jason likes to think it's just the real Tim, the one that Jason knows is always there, but hidden, coming to the fore. He sighs heavily, because less than two hours ago, he gave Tim a complete cussing out and Tim just _took it_ and said, "Mexico, huh?" as if Jason hadn't said any of it. And he understands why they're stopping here instead of going back to Jason's house when Jason said he was so tired all of a sudden that he was starting to feel loopy. He arranges his legs so that they'll have half decent blood flow, leans against his window, and closes his eyes.

Misty morning sunlight wakes him. Somehow, during the night he and Tim flopped their bodies the complete opposite way, and they're both leaning on each other, Tim's got his head tucked against Jason's shoulder, and Jason can feel Tim's breath, feather soft, brushing across his collar bone.

A big hank of hair has fallen across Tim's face and he's got a sort of half-smile, and Jason doesn't even think, just does  reaches over with his stupid, gimpy hand (but not much longer, if all goes well) and brushes it away, so that he can get a better view of Tim's face. Only his crippled hand is clumsy, and his knuckles cuff Tim's face as he pushes the hair aside, and _fuck_, Tim's awake now, blinking up at him, startled and sleepy.

(And Jason's so busted.)

Only, he's not.

"Jay ..." Tim breathes softly, and gives that smile of his and just _looks_ at him for what seems like the longest time and then he kisses Jason wetly.

(_OhGod!_)

Jason gasps and jerks, but it doesn't frighten Tim or put him off. (Or if it does, he hides it well.)

"We okay?" Tim asks, voice husky, velvety.

"Yes," Jason whispers back through what feels like a mouthful of sand.

"Good." And Jason has never heard such _relief_ in Tim's voice. Tim shifts, sitting up a little straighter, undoes his seatbelt, shrugs it off, and reaches his (big, powerful, _good_) hand over, cups Jason's head, and kisses him again. Gently. Reverently.

And something breaks inside of Jason. He's tried so hard not to want this from Tim. Built walls. Locked himself away from thinking it. Always so careful in what he let himself do. But it's always been there between them, this thing that they both, by unspoken agreement, decided to pretend didn't exist. Only, it seems that Tim's tired of pretending, and anybody who knows Tim knows that Tim does what Tim wants to do and damn the rest.

And Jason figures that he might as well give in and go along with this, because everything else in his life has turned to shit and he hasn't gotten a single damn thing that _he's_ wanted recently, so why not have what he's wanted from Tim since he was 14? He reaches over and cups his hand around the back of Tim's neck and deepens the kiss.

When they break for air, Jason laughs about the fact that they both need to shave. Tim smiles at that, but the look in his eyes, when they flick up to meet Jason's is all business.

Tim is hungry.

And so is Jason.

Tim reaches over and unclips the belt that's holding Jason, and Jason says, "Tim, we've got to --"

But Tim's moving, knowing what Jason meant even before the words can make it out of his mouth, only Tim's the one leaning backwards, pulling Jason to lie on top of him, not the other way around. "Your steering wheel's got extra knobs and shit," Tim says by way of explanation, and then he's kissing Jason again, slipping one of his hands under Jason's shirt tail, and Jason can't feel it, can only feel the way it makes his shirt tug, and half wonders what his back must feel like, muscles slack, or if they do twitch and respond, it's not in a way that makes sense, just random neural static. But whatever Tim's hands are feeling back there, it's not repulsive. They stay, and Tim gives a shuddery breath, and the _idea_ of Tim's hands running across him, caressing, stroking, _clenching_ ... it's good. Jason can't feel it, but he _knows_ things down there are wide awake and raring to go.

Jason's hands aren't idle, either. There's not a hell of a lot of room in the cab, but he's got one of his hands pushing under the front of Tim's shirt, and while they're mostly stupid, useless, numb lumps, his thumbs are in good working order, and he's stroking at what he can. Tim's still so ripped, and Jason's amazed that Tim can put away so much beer and junk food and still have such definition.

"What do you like?" Tim whispers, breathy and panting, when he finally rips his mouth away from Jason  who does not want to let it go.

_Like I know  I've never made it with a guy before_, Jason thinks, but what stumbles out of his mouth is, "It -- it still works, if that's what you're asking." Pause. "Um. What do you like?"

Tim gives a snort of laughter. "Everything."

Um ... "Why don't we just figure it out as we go along?"

Tim smiles at that. "Kind of like this trip."

"Yeah," Jason laughs back, then says, "Necking. Necking's good." The words are barely out of his mouth and Tim's got his other hand in Jason's hair, and he's angling his lips in a hot line across the place where jaw meets neck and sparks are shooting through Jason's body. "In fact, it's fantastic," Jason gasps, as he moves to return the favor.

A few minutes of heaven later, Tim's groans take on a new timbre, and he shifts his body and by the way he's got his arms, Jason's pretty sure Tim's got both hands on his ass and that gives him such a jolt that he spasms, and Tim starts rocking away beneath him and panting "OhJay" in between sucking and nipping at all the good places on Jason's neck, and Jason's doing the best he can to find out what makes it good for Tim, and Tim speeds up his rocking and it's coming, it's close, and .... Jason remembers what they both seem to have forgotten.

"Tim, we've got to --" he gasps out as Tim does this wicked awesome thing with his tongue. "Pants!"

"Yeah," Tim says raggedly, and Jason figures out that he's got a hand between them, down there, that he's fumbling away at zippers and buttons and he's going to find out, and that thought nearly kills it for Jason. He knows that Tim knows about the leg bag, but having Tim actually _deal_ with it is a whole different thing. He feels his face flame.

"What do I do?" Tim asks, and Jason tells him how to pinch the tube shut and pull it out. "Okay," Tim says raggedly. "Now give me your hand." Jason doesn't fully understand, but he does, and Tim takes it and gives as much of the palm as he can get a big slobbery lick and then he guides it down ....

(_Jesus, he's hot_.)

Tim actually shakes a bit when Jason finally gets his hand in place, and it's almost as good for Jason, who's never had anything but his own in his fist, but Tim's ... it's a live one, not deadwood like his own. It responds differently. Swelling, twitching, throbbing when he moves his thumb over the head like that, or when he does what little flexing he can in his hand -- just like Jason's used to -- and there's a fucking storm going on in the back of Jason's brain right now, because things are rewiring and switches are flipping all over the place as Tim starts fucking his fist in earnest. And in seconds it's almost like it was back when his own dick could feel his hand on it, and though he knows he can't feel it, Jason feels his own dick throbbing away like it used to, but it's like Tim's dick is his dick now, it's _their_ dick, and Jason feels it swell that last little bit, as Tim gives a soft, deep, "Oh, _Jay_" and comes, and when that first hard wet spurt spills over his hand, Jason closes his eyes and lets his own orgasm crash over him.

They lay there for long, perfect moments, too limp to move, just riding the bliss.

"Did you ...?" Tim whispers so softly that Jason has to strain to hear it.

Jason lifts his head from where it's buried in Tim's neck and says, "Yeah." And there's an ear to ear grin on his face.

Pause.

Jason feels Tim tense under him and then he takes a deep breath and asks, "How do you -- I mean, you can't actually feel it, right?"

He chortles and says, "Tim, you know that relieved feeling you get after you shoot?"

"Yeah."

"Well, right now, I am feeling _incredibly_ relieved."

"So, it was good for you then?" Tim deadpans.

Jason laughs at him. "You are such a jackass."

Tim laughs back and says, "Does this mean you're not buying me breakfast?"


End file.
